Tears Don't Fall
by EternalStarfire
Summary: Draco Malfoy lives a painful, evil life as Head Boy. His role in the War has grown much worse, and he is denied the love of the woman he fights for. Warning: Self-injury, angst, language,Character death s . DM/HG. HG/RW. Lyrics by Bullet for My Valentine.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I don't own the characters. Lyrics are by Bullet for My Valentine.

_With blood shot eyes I watch you sleeping_  
_The warmth I feel beside me is slowly fading_  
_Would she hear me if I call her name?_  
_Would she hold me if she knew my shame?  
_

Draco tossed over in the bed again, still awake in the late hours of the night in his dorm. Angry at his mind's insolence, he threw his pillow at the door, missed, and cursed loudly when it crashed into the glass table. He heard a shriek from across the hall, and jumped out of his bed._ One... two...three _he counted slowly, before there came a sharp haughty knock at his door. _Go back to bed, Hermione, you don't want to see this, _he thought furiously. Only about the fourth night this week. Eventually, he was going to do something about this, if only he could figure out how.

"Malfoy? Is everything alright in there? I heard a crash. It's 4-am. I'm coming in," stated Hermione Granger, and she turned the handle and pushed at the door. Draco moved quickly to block her entrance, holding the door gently closed. Tenacious as she was, her five foot-three frame was not built to hold off his strapping build, crafted and blended by constant fighting and frequent Quidditch practices.

"Sorry, He-Granger...I think you ought to go back to bed. I can handle this myself. I just shattered the table is all. Nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure? I know your spell-work can be a little shoddy when it comes to household spells. Maybe I should do it." She gave a bigger push, and made headway into his room.

"Granger, my spell-work is _not_ shoddy." He reached through the door and found her stomach, pushed her back from the door, and shut and locked it again. "Now, go to bed."

"I...well, fine! Have it your way! But if you wake me up again, I will come in there personally and remove whatever it is that's waking you up, I swear it."

Draco did not bother responding. Besides, he reasoned, she wouldn't have appreciated his retort, nor would she have heard it at the rate she stalked back to her room.

At least on nights like this, she never got through his door. In a way, he secretly wished she was curious enough about him to break down the door, and yet he knew that she would never do such a thing. It was too violent for her taste. He knew that she always wanted to help, animosities aside, and that it was in her nature to find compassion for him, of all people. But that was part of what made him love her so much. If only he could be like her, as kind, as friendly, as wonderful. But he was a Malfoy, and he never was and never would be any of those things. His father had been too harsh, too unloving for him to have had any hope from the get-go. He'd learned to accept that fact with fake and enduring pride.

He fixed the table, slowly, as he wasn't in a hurry, and just marveled at the magic he could produce. He loved magic; it was amazing how after so many years of being surrounded by it, even the simplest spells made him happy. Magic wasn't always simple; it challenged him, he had to work hard to perfect every spell, and he was dedicated to perfectionism; but magic was beautiful, it was power, it was who he was. Despite his best efforts, though, Hermione surpassed him in the school. He knew his father hated him for being second, for not being the best he supposedly could be, for not besting the Mudblood. Draco, however, didn't really care. He didn't care if he was first in class, he didn't care if he made a mistake on a project and had to redo it. He didn't care much for his father's ideas about the world, though no one obviously knew this. When it really came down to it, Draco realized, he'd been saddled with a role his father, and therefore society, had chosen for him, and he'd simply let it run its course.

Lying back down on the bed, Draco took a deep breath and rolled over to watch the sunrise through the window. He'd hopefully get some sleep during the day, as he usually managed. It was rather disconcerting, he decided, how nocturnal he had become. The problem happened to be that little muggle-born witch sleeping somewhere across the way; probably dreaming of the red-headed goof she loved so dearly, or perhaps of scarhead, who she was so close to. But she'd never dream of him the way he figured she did about them. No, he was her enemy, at most every level. Sure, they'd lately formed some kind of truce, they hadn't been fighting as much, and lessons weren't spent coping with each others idiosyncrasies. The lack of fighting, well, that he blamed mostly on his inherent exhaustion. He had no energy to even terrify first years between classes; he was much too preoccupied with both feeding Dumbledore information and finding a way to enable an attack on the school. He was playing both fields, just like Snape, but more for the benefits than the honor. So,instead of harassing her, he watched her with silent pride out of the corner of his eyes, watched as she grew excited over a perfect potion, as she concentrated on an Arithmency problem, or, as she mastered a complicated charm before the rest of the class.

Maybe it was pathetic to watch her, but he loved to do it. No one knew, and if he was caught, no one ever confronted him about it. If anyone important found out his feelings, he was sure that he'd never hear the end of it from his father, and many beatings later, maybe her memory would disappear and his love would cease to exist. He hoped to keep it a secret, because when he did get to sleep, she was what he dreamed about: soothing touches of her hands, soft whispers of love and encouragement, loving embraces given without question, without hesitation; but reality reminded him that dreams could never happen.

But what if it could happen? What if she could love him back the way he so desperately loved her? What if she forgave him his sins and looked into his shameful eyes and promised him forever? Would that ever happen? What would she do if held her, randomly, just grabbed her without a word and held her tight, told her his feelings and everything on his mind? Would she understand, respect him for it?

The obvious answer was no. But he would never give up hoping.

Deciding his attempts at sleep were pointless, Draco got out of bed and changed. Looking into the mirror as he brushed his blond hair out of his eyes, he saw with a grimace how bloodshot and unappealing they had become. It seemed as though they had grown dull, the silver glint he was used to seeing was gone, leaving nothing but cold gray peering back at him. He rubbed at them a bit, and shook his head irritably. Unable to remember the spell to fix them, he blinked a bit and decided to let them be. Pulling on a sweater over his shirt, he wondered absently if Hermione was asleep.

He quietly descended the steps to the landing and crept across to her room. He knocked softly. No response came, so he slowly opened the door a few inches wide. She was, indeed deeply asleep. He took a hesitant step into the room, and watched the moonlight lighten her sleeping form. Her hair tangled all around her, framing her head on the pillow, and a book lay open to the side. She mumbled in her sleep and turned over. He tiptoed closer. _This, this girl right here, is what I'm fighting for_, he told himself, frowning as a smile smoothed across her face, _why I'm betraying my family and helping my enemy. _Then, Hermione mumbled loud enough for Draco to understand her.

"Ron...love..."

He bit his lip to fight the angry tears that were immediately pricking his eyes. With a heavy heart, Draco carefully exited the room, not able to be near her in his pain. He went back to his room and began working on a potions essay for Slughorn, but only after he had cast a silencing charm upon his room and cried and screamed himself calm and hoarse.

The essay took thoughts of Hermione off his mind, but brought back what had been keeping him up most nights. Voldemort. He had threatened everything Draco held dear, so he was unhappily fulfilling his father's dreams, and had sworn allegiance. Not only was he dooming himself, but he was given many assignments to do. Difficult, nearly impossible assignments, that, to him seemed pointless. He couldn't understand the motives behind his Master's decisions, nor could he usually accomplish his tasks on time. Most of them were dangerous, to say the last, and it seemed his allegiance would be unending. His last and most important one was to find a way to get Death Eaters inside the castle for an attack. He didn't think he could do it, and with the consequences of failing being death, he was terrified.

And yet he was trying to do the right thing at the same time. He fed information to the Order in hopes of protecting the only escape plan there was: his school enemy, Harry Potter. This too was dangerous, as it seemed Dumbledore could tell that some of his information was fake and that he was hiding quite a lot of his own he was a successful Legilimens thanks to Snape, the old man seemed to know everything. So he was trying to avoid giving him fake information when it was possible. Dangerous though it was, he felt that simply forgetting to mention that the Order was expected to take the bait and await an ambush, and instead giving away the true location he had been forbidden to divulge was worth any punishment he might receive. So far, he had been lucky and hadn't been found out. _So far, so good_, he told himself bitterly.

Once he had made good progress on his essay, he threw himself back into bed, lying awake and dreading the sunshine that was breaking its way over the mountains, signaling another day about to begin.

**A/N: **I know, it's a short chapter. Anyway, reviews are awesome to get. :)_  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Sorry it took so long to update, I had no inspiration for a long while. But at least its finally up!

_There's always something different going wrong_

_The path I walk's in the wrong direction_

_There's always someone fucking hanging on_

_Can anybody help me make things better?_

His future was hopeless. Not one thing in his life left him a glimmer of hope, and now, Draco knew for sure that the woman he loved, Hermione, loved someone else. She had been his world for so long, though he had never shown his affection, she had nevertheless always been in the back of his mind. Draco's position was tenuous, his desperation was slowly becoming obsessive.

Draco hardly recognized himself lately. The once attractive features he had been proud of were now haunting reminders of his failures. His blond hair had become dull and lackluster, his cheekbones were hollowing out the sides of his face. Now, all there was left of the man he had once been was to be found in his bright gray eyes. The ice blue flecks now shown more shocking in candlelight, darkening his appearance until his evil demeanor was viewable to anyone who looked at him. Or so he thought. He knew that most likely, no one really acknowledged him. He was hopeless and scared, and very much alone. No one was going to save him, and there was no one to ask for help.

It was with little sleep and the weight of what felt like the whole world on his shoulders that Draco headed off to classes first thing in the morning. He was dreading Charms and Potions, because he would have to endure several hours of company with Hermione. Charms passed slowly, as Draco felt he was wasting his time listening to Flitwick drone on and on about Disillusionment charms. For the life of him, he could never remember the incantation, and doubted he would ever use it anyway. in fact, he spent most of the lesson completely ignoring his classmates, and found himself doodling on his parchment, only half-heartedly pretending to take notes. As he left the room, Flitwick shot him with a very disappointed look, but Draco sneered and shook it off and headed off to Potions.

He was even less excited about Potions than he had been about Charms, but knew he was dead meat if he skived off the lesson. His essay for Slughorn was most likely less than satisfactory, but Draco felt he should at least turn it in, even if it would earn him failing marks. Indeed, Slughorn raised his eyebrows upon peering at Draco's essay, which was half a page short and quite lacking in detail, yet he collected it anyway and began the lesson. Draco forced himself to pay half attention to Slughorn, but wanted to crawl back into bed the minute their assignment was given. He had sworn several times over that if he had to attempt to brew another cauldron of the Drought of Living Death he would hex himself into oblivion, and yet that was exactly what he was instructed to do. Not to mention the labor he would have to put in to accomplish a potion that was half-correct, he was more than outraged by the fact that Slughorn seemed to think that because Potter had managed to somehow brew a perfect potion, then the rest of the class was more than capable. The truth was, Draco had no idea how Potter had pulled off such a stunt, and was more than livid that he had been so lucky as to be given a free period while the rest of them slaved away.

The whole lesson was disastrous for Draco, as he tried and failed to brew his potion. He read and re-read the instructions multiple times, and even attempted to modify some of it to his advantage, but by the time the hour was up, he was only at the halfway point and received only half the points he needed. After he packed up, he dashed to the Great Hall to have some lunch, but couldn't meet Blaze Zabini's eyes over his chicken salad. As soon as he was done, he headed out to the greenhouses for double Herbology, and suffered through two hours of nasty gardening and came in wet from the rain, covered in filth, and thoroughly depressed. He took a long shower, trying to wash his body and mind clean, but no matter how hard he scrubbed, he could not improve his feelings.

He didn't even bother going down for dinner that night, and once again stayed in his room, trying desperately to get some homework done. Before he knew it, it was nearly midnight and he'd read over his homework twice. He dreaded another sleepless night, but as he was getting so used to his insomnia, he decided he was better off at least attempting to get some shut-eye. He set his books away, and dressed himself for bed. Yet as he looked once again into the mirror, he felt himself ready to cry. He had disappointed his professors in class to day; even worse, had disappointed himself. His poor excuse for attempted homework was just one more thing stabbing at his crumbling sanity, for without his brilliance, he was worth even less. With nothing to do but feel sorry for himself, Draco lay down on his bed, pulled the covers up over his head, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Early the next morning, a large, dark barn owl awoke him by calling loudly through his window, which he'd left slightly ajar. Aside from cursing it out as he'd sleepily thrown himself from his bed, he chucked an old wadded up newspaper at it. This of course, only irritated the owl more, and caused it to start screeching. Not wanting to deal with it any longer, Draco finally let it inside and tore off the letter that was tied to its leg, and after it bit him smartly on his thumb, the owl flew away.

Upon first glance, Draco noticed his father's handwriting and immediately feared opening it. So, for awhile, he sat and stared at the letter, which he'd placed on his desk; because he couldn't bear to face it. He knew it was bound to be filled with tasks and angry sentiments from his father, and he just wasn't ready to deal with it. Eventually, he would open it, but he decided it was best to leave it to sit for awhile. Luckily, it was the weekend, so he had no where to be. The letter unsettled him, however, so he ended up getting up from his seat. He took his potions book with him, and went out into the common room to read it. He hoped he would catch a glimpse of Hermione, and a glimpse he did catch. She flitted out from her room, dressed for the outdoors, and just as quickly passed through the portrait hole without so much as a backwards glance in his direction. Draco sighed, and returned to his reading, and yet he didn't find himself able to concentrate too long. When he could ignore the letter no longer, he got up and and retrieved it off his desk and set to reading it.

All it contained was a few well-chosen words from Luscious Malfoy telling him to get a move on and get his grades up. He was well threatened and dared not to fail his father, but Draco merely found the letter to be nothing more than a nuisance. It did, to his displeasure, include false information he was supposed to give Dumbledore. He loathed his visits with the old man, because although he said he understood and trusted Draco, it was more than clear that he thought nothing of the sort. Draco sighed as he held the crinkled parchment in his hand, and thought for a moment. Before long, he retrieved a small piece of parchment and his quill and set to writing Dumbledore a letter. This time, when he met with Dumbledore, Draco decided to tell the old man the truth. Of course, he would alert him of the false trail he'd been given, but he would also attempt to let Dumbledore know that the information he was to be given wasn't true. He would then hope for the best, and relay the information Dumbledore would give him back to his father with the hope that it would be taken well. He sealed the letter and headed to the Owlery, where he found his falcon owl, tied the letter to its leg, and sent it on its way. Without looking back as it flew away, Draco left and headed back to the common room, his head buzzing with thought.

**A/N: **So the plot thickens. Thanks for waiting so patiently for an update, and I hope to write more soon as I can. Reviews please?


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